Yesterday's Gone: Season Three (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER)

right fucking now. And get your guns ready!”

    **

    Without another word, Boricio kicked open the front door, then went outside and hollered, “Well hello there, weary travelers, welcome to Motel Boricio where roaches check in, but they don’t fucking check out!” Mary pictured him spreading his arms like wings and twirling around.
    “Come on!” she whispered, crawling toward the stairs while Luca and Paola crawled behind her. She paused at the first step, waiting for Paola and Luca. Paola went up the stairs first, then Luca. Mary followed behind. By the time they were upstairs, peeking out the window like Boricio told them not to, Mary could clearly see that Boricio was even crazier than she thought.
    He was surrounded by a semicircle of four men, who all looked like they were from that Mel Gibson movie from the ‘80s that she couldn’t remember the name of — the one from back when Mel Gibson was handsome and not yet crazy. Like Boricio had said, all four men were armed, three with guns, while the tallest, largest, and obvious leader wore a sword in a scabbard at his back.
    Boricio said, “I’ll admit, since I don’t have much company these days, I’m easily flattered. But I also have to confess to all sorts of warm fuzzies seeing as how you could smell Boricio’s Famous Sloppy Spaghetti from whatever side of Mad Max Island you’ve all come riding in from.”
    Mad Max, that was it!
    The leader grunted into Boricio’s bravado. “How many people are in the house?” he snarled.
    Boricio laughed. “Ah, I wish there was more than just me, because I tell you what,” Boricio leaned closer to the leader in a growling whisper that was loud enough for Mary to hear, upstairs and behind a window, “Man, woman, or something with fur, it’d be nice to give ole’ Rosy Palms a break. But sadly for me, my many calluses and our bottle of Jergens, it’s just us.”
    “Bullshit,” the leader said. “I’m gonna ask you one more time, how many people you have in the house?” He pulled his sword from its scabbard and waved it in front of Boricio.
    “Ha,” Boricio cried. “Aren’t you gonna say, ‘I have the power?’ That’s how He-Man does it, you know.”
    Mary might have laughed if she wasn’t terrified; half-certain they were minutes from dead. He may have been scarier than the Boogeyman himself, but Mary had to admire Boricio’s unvarnished grit.
    The leader growled, and it looked like he was about to start swinging his sword, when Boricio took a giant step back and said, “Wait!”
    Boricio held his hands high in the air. “Now, not to alarm you,” he said, “but I’m gonna reach behind my back and pull out my Beretta. Then I’m going to set it right here on the driveway. If I point it at you, or make a move that looks like it has a ball hair of danger, I grant you full permission to open fire on my stupid ass. And you can keep pulling the trigger until I finally stop twitching. If not, then let me set my gun on the ground so you can give me a minute of your time.”
    Boricio didn’t wait for anyone to agree, just reached his hands behind his back and pulled out the gun like it wasn’t suicide, then set it flat on the ground like he said he would.
    “Now,” he said. “You strike me as a smart bunch of young men. And since you’re smart men with intelligent transportation and a brilliant set of weapons,” Boricio grinned and nodded his way from the pistol to the shotguns, then back to the sword in the middle. “I figured you might appreciate a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to join Team Boricio.” He waited for a second then added, “So what do you say?”
    All four looked confused. The leader looked like he was seconds from lobbing Boricio’s head off and into the garden.
    Mary’s heart continued to race. She wanted Boricio to take a step back, so he was at least clear from the sword’s orbit, but she knew Boricio well enough even after only a few days to know that in his mind even a small step back was retreat, and retreat was a recipe Boricio would never cook.
    “I can see your confusion,” he went on. “And I don’t want you to be confused, so I’ll explain.” Boricio cleared his throat. “Team Boricio is the winning team at the finish line of the world, and I’m the team captain.”
    Boricio’s back was to Mary, but she could picture him beaming, and was pretty sure he was pointing at his chest. Why the three men with guns hadn’t opened fire on him already was